


clarity above all things

by kalachuchi



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Denial, Feelings Realization, M/M, Zhengting-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 09:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14870769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalachuchi/pseuds/kalachuchi
Summary: They’re flying out to Australia tomorrow. Nobody gets what they want, probably.





	clarity above all things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pyrophane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrophane/gifts).



> ash! whether or not this is the brand of zhengkun you're in the market for, i don't know – nevertheless, delivering this dirt expressly to you [beating heart emojy]

“Such a mistake to want clarity above all things.”

– **Louise Gluck** , _Moonless Night_

 

 

Taking stock of the situation, Zhengting notes the following in no particular order:

Tomorrow they are flying to Australia. Justin is scheming a headache in the kitchen. Dishes clutter the sink, incriminatingly not washed. Zhengting has not finished packing yet. Skirting around the periphery of the living room, Yanjun is in the process of fleeing responsibility for whatever situation Justin will rope anyone who’ll listen to him into, which of course refers to everyone – wait. That’s not right. Yanjun isn’t fleeing any situation, he can’t.

That is, not if Zhengting beats him to it.

On his way to the bedrooms, Zhengting passes the jacket Ziyi received on a whim yesterday. Nongnong had taken one look at its price tag and sworn solemnly off of doing any of Ziyi’s laundry for the remainder of their contract together. Still, the jacket fits a lot more loosely on Xukun than it would had its owner been the one wearing it. 

Not that it’s any of Zhengting’s business, of course. He has other things to focus his attentions on.

 

 

Zhengting has folded four similar but not identical Hawaiian print t-shirts when Chengcheng says, “Consider it like this. You’re being a baby.”

“You’re being very responsible today,” Zhengting complains. He stops folding Hawaiian t-shirt number five. “I don’t like this.”

From his bed across the room, Chengcheng snorts. Zhengting resumes folding t-shirt number five. Chengcheng flings a pair of sunglasses – probably Justin’s, and presumably directed at Zhengting’s face – landing on top of the now neatly-folded t-shirt.

Packing the sunglasses into the suitcase alongside the shirt, Zhengting informs Chengcheng that he’s being rather rude.

“You’re not a proper role model,” Chengcheng replies, because he doesn’t care.

Time to pack jackets, now. Outerwear is very important, tropical weather be damned.

 

 

_“_ It looks good on you,” Xukun had said, back at the changing rooms the day Ziyi gets the jacket. Zhengting had already yanked half his arm out from one of the sleeves. “If you like, you should get it _.”_

The sleeve catches on a button of Zhengting’s shirt, located aesthetically but admittedly inconveniently alongside the side seam of Zhengting’s shirt. “Thank you,” Zhengting had replied, “I was considering it for Ziyi,” and oh, damn. He really has to get it for Ziyi now. A shame – Zhengting thought the fit on him was pretty nice. 

Xukun blinks twice, slowly, before volunteering the following opinion: “Ah, I’ve never bought him anything. You’re a good person, Zhengting.” Oh, damn. 

Belatedly, Zhengting realises how impersonal he must have sounded, redirecting casual conversation into mere cordiality. Really, Zhengting just wanted to free himself from this jacket he doesn’t get to keep for himself, now. 

“I don’t think he cares,” Zhengting says, which does make anything any better, and he wonders what it is about Xukun that inspires this surplus of negative fronting from him. What it is about Xukun that tempts Zhengting into trying for it regardless. The fronting, that is. Zhengting isn’t sure he’s able to show anything to someone new now without leaving it at just that – a show. The Zhu Zhengting highlight reel of highs and lows.

 

 

“Hm. Earth to Zhengzheng.”

“I’m a fairy,” Zhengting sniffs. “My feet wouldn’t dare deign to touch the ground.”

Chengcheng passes Zhengting a tissue, despite Zhengting neither asking for nor requiring one. This is understandable. Zhengting has been in a war of attrition against his allergies for the better part of a year now, even if Wenjun usually just calls him stubborn.

“Go talk to him,” Chengcheng says. Zhengting ignores him. Maybe then the sentence will fly away, unheard.

Instead, Zhengting asks, “Why can’t you just room with me while we’re there.”

“You know I can’t,” Chengcheng explains, tone of voice implying what Chengcheng really means is _You know I don’t want to._

“Well! Who else would you stay with?”

The reply is immediate. “Justin.”

“You’re assigned a three-person bedroom, Fan Chengcheng,” Zhengting persists, having anticipated the resistance.

“I know: Me, then Justin.”

Zhengting drapes the tissue over his forehead, sensing he might yet develop a headache after all. “That’s two people.”

“Oh.” Chengcheng pauses, then says, “Wang Linkai.”

“And leave me to sleep beside other people!”

Chengcheng frowns. “They’re not other people. Kunkun and Ziyi are your friends.” And Zhengting doesn’t have anything to counter that, because Chengcheng isn’t wrong, not technically. Chengcheng continues.“Besides, you’re the only one thick enough to try sleeping between them.”

“What a thing to say, Chengcheng. Awful.”

The tissue drifts from Zhengting’s forehead to the floor. Zhengting drapes himself across his open suitcase, arms outstretched and hands making grabby motions for Chengcheng, who narrows his eyes and taps the space beside him on the bed instead. “Ugh,” Zhengting says, with feeling. Then he marches to sit next to Chengcheng.

“This was pretty predictable, you know,” Chengcheng says, but he’s smiling.

“I didn’t ask for you to be reasonable. I wanted you to listen to me complain.”

“I know.” Chengcheng’s voice sounds muffled. “I’m still here, aren’t I.”

Zhengting has wormed his way into a hug in the end, ear pressed firmly against Chengcheng’s shirt. It’s soft, softer than Zhengting’s own. It makes Zhengting feel immediately better, however incrementally. 

And then the door opens.

“Hey, dude.” Linkai. “Woah, was I interrupting? ‘Cause I can totally pack later–”

“We’re leaving tomorrow, don’t procrastinate,” Zhengting says, as if he himself hadn’t done just that.

Chengcheng waves him over, too. “Come join. Zhengting’s having a tantrum.”

Zhengting sits up, disentangling from the hug.

“What’s up? I got you, Gē.” Linkai’s face is almost terrifyingly earnest.

“Never mind,” Zhengting says, redirecting his hug to Linkai, who kindly indulges him. “You two can room together just fine. You, you, and Justin.”

 

 

Wang Ziyi is an exceptionally good person. Unfortunately, Zhengting is exceptionally sleep deprived and consequently finds no patience within himself to reciprocate.

“Do planes not agree with you? Bro, would switching seats help any?”

Zhengting groans, quieter than he would like, but all he can afford given the public setting. To his left, Ziyi sits by the window seat, increasingly concerned. Xukun is concerned too, maybe, seated to Zhengting’s right, but Zhengting hasn’t spoken to him since asking if he needs help stacking carry-ons into the overhead storage. This is Zhengting’s life for the next several hours.

“I will survive,” Zhengting sighs. Ziyi raises his eyebrows. Zhengting allows, somewhat grudgingly, “The window seat wouldn’t benefit you or me if I _did_ fall ill on this flight.”

There’s a tap against Zhengting’s right elbow. Xukun is already curling Zhengting’s fingers around a pocket-sized canister of motion sickness tablets.

“I wasn’t at my best our last time in the air,” Xukun explains. He isn’t looking directly at Zhengting. This would suit Zhengting more if Zhengting hadn’t finally focused on Xukun in time to catch Xukun looking past him, to Ziyi or the window. Zhengting isn’t sure which reality he would prefer.

Zhengting knocks back a motion sickness tablet.

 

 

– And wakes curled against Xukun’s shoulder. Blinking awake, Zhengting peers at him without drawing attention to his newfound consciousness. Xukun is sitting ramrod straight, so as to avoid Zhengting’s head tipping forwards, jolting him awake. Zhengting swallows.

“I appreciate this,” Zhengting says, voice low. Then he closes his eyes again.

Before he drifts back into sleep, he thinks he feels Xukun’s shoulders drop, slouching into a position that’s more comfortable, more instinctive for him.

Zhengting dreams, and remembers none of it upon waking with any certainty, recalling only the sensation of something falling, air rushing past him in its descent, and the threads of someone’s voice, low but airy, maybe singing, maybe moments away from sleeping, themselves. 

 

 

Depositing himself across one of the hotel beds, Zhengting waves in the direction of the bathroom door. “Go forth. Consider this my repayment to you.”

Xukun sits beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under their combined weight. Ziyi is inspecting the pool with some of the others downstairs.

“Did you need help getting to the shower.” Xukun’s tone is wry, amused.

“No,” Zhengting says. “But I can walk you there, if you want. Though I suppose I’d appreciate you relinquishing first shower, too.”

Zhengting hates not getting to the showers first, dislikes the feeling of someone else getting where he wants before him, however arbitrary the destination. He isn’t sure if Xukun has realised this about him, isn’t sure if that’s something a person is allowed to just say.

_They’re not other people,_ lectures Chengcheng’s voice, muddled and indistinct even in his head. _They’re your friends._

Out loud, Zhengting exhales, “You’re my friend too, you know,” ignoring the way _friend_ catches in his throat, the shape of it raw in its newness or incomplete truthfulness.

“Alright,” Xukun says. Zhengting stares at him. Xukun stares back – he seems to be considering something.

Finally, Xukun says, “You know you don’t owe me anything. I care about you too.”  
  
Ah. That’s what this is. Friendship without friendship, an emotional investment that foregoes attachment. The highlight reel panning out at all moments in the back of Zhengting’s mind fans out and disperses. Right now, in Zhengting’s mind there is only himself and his thoughts. In this room there is only Zhengting, who cares, and Xukun, who is waiting.

“I don’t owe you anything,” Zhengting agrees, “but I want to.”  
  
“And if I don’t accept?”

Zhengting smiles. The expression finds its way to his face easily, without any catches.

“Then I’ll just have to give you what I want to. No terms and conditions.”

“Jumping past a contractual agreement? You drive a strong argument, Zhu Zhengting. Very persuasive."

“I’m a very good person,” Zhengting says, which makes Xukun laugh.

“If you say so,” Xukun relents, “I guess we’ll have to try and find out.”

That seems fair. Zhengting will get where he wants in the end. Besides, he’s always preferred proving himself deserving of what he’s chasing along the way first, after all.

 

 

 


End file.
